Devil in Red
by LtTanyaBoone
Summary: One night, a smoky club, a Secret Service Agent that needs to unwind, and a dark-eyed devil that leads her into temptation //Kiva//


_Disclaimers:_ NCIS, the rights to the show and its characters do not belong to me. The song "Devil's Dance Floor" belongs to Flogging Molly. No money was made by this._  
__Spoilers_: none really, pre-series, minor ones for Bête Noir and Twilight, the latter only because Ducky's comment is mentioned briefly_  
Pairing:_ Kate Todd/Ziva David [Kiva] romantic pairing_  
Summary_: One night, a smoky club, a Secret Service Agent that needs to unwind, and a dark-eyed devil that leads her into temptation_  
A/N2:_ Yes, Kiva. Didn't work with anybody else, Kate was the only one that fit into the scene. I know that she's Catholic and that her parents probably do not fit the description in the song, but hell, it's fan_fiction_. And we never learned anything else about her family other than she has brothers. So there, take that TPTB.

* * *

It has been a very long day. It is not the first one you have had, and you are certain that it will not be the last one, either. But right now, that does not matter. You are here to have some fun, to lighten up your dark mood and distract you from the recent mistakes you have made during training sessions.

You are new to the Secret Service, and ever since you joined two months ago, it feels like you will never be able to keep up with the other agents. You have gotten your ass kicked today during the sparring sessions, more than once, and each time was more painful than the one before that. Because you know better, you know what to do. But every time you step up to another agents, your brain turns blank and you only see the punches and kicks coming at you, knowing where they will hit, but unable to do anything against it.

With a sigh and a shake of your head, you take a sip of your cocktail and flinch at the sweetness of it. But you are only able to tolerate a small amount of alcohol, and at least the sickeningly sweet taste masks the taste of the stuff. You wish you could get drunk, but it is not an option. Not just because of your job and because your boss will kick your ass if you cannot perform at the top of your level the next morning, but also because of your family, because of your mother. You will not get drunk out of your mind. You have seen that one time too much, and refuse to turn into such a person yourself.

Another song comes on, more upbeat, and you tap your foot against the floor, looking at the crowd on the dance floor. You have never been much of a dancer on the rare nights out you allow yourself, and tonight will be no different. You have more fun watching the people move, men hitting on women, trying to score even if their bodies signal they should not even try.

Another sip of the cocktail, another flinch. You scan the crowd, and your eyes find someone intriguing. A woman, dark haired, the curls brushing over her naked arms and falling down to the middle of her back. The red dress she is wearing clings to her curves, and what curves she possesses. She whirls around in time with the music, brushing a few curls out of her face, exposing it to your view. And you suck in a breath. My God, she is not simply beautiful, but drop-dead gorgeous. Amazingly stunning, her body moves completely in synch with the music, her hips rolling in time with the beat, pressing against one of the men surrounding her. Apparently, you are not the only one mesmerized by the dancing exotic beauty if the number of drooling men ungracefully trying to keep up with her is any indication.

The song morphs into the next one, and another one, and still you are staring at the other woman, hypnotized by the graceful movements of her body, the jerking of her hips, her hands sliding down her body, a whispered promise in each fluid motion. You do not even stop staring as the object of you attention stops dancing and slowly makes her way over to the bar. The bar where you sit.

She comes to stand right in front of you, and you sip your drink innocently, waiting for her to place her order. She does not; instead she leans in, turning slightly so she catches your eye. You look at her, raising an eyebrow, suddenly blushing slightly at being caught staring. At a woman no less.

Her lips start moving, and her breath is hot on your face as she asks you if you liked what you saw. You stare at her full, red lips and then her eyes. Dark, deep and soulful eyes with a glint in them that sends a shiver down your spine. She is breathtaking, and you cannot form a single word with your lips and tongue, and not a sentence in your mind. Your brain has turned to mush, all you can think about is her body moving in time with the music, her full lips on yours, your tongue tasting her, the way her dress would pool around her feet when you pull down the zipper-

Quickly, you shake your head. Get a grip, Caitlin; this is neither the time, nor the place, and certainly not the right person to be imagining these things with.

She leans in even more, her cheek against yours, her soft, olive skin pressing against your pale one as her sweet, seducing voice fills your ear and mind and soul. She tells you she has watched you watching her, and the lump in your throat grows at your desperate swallow. Her hand comes to lie on your knee, slowly brushing higher. You can feel the heat of her body, the warmth of her hand through the thin fabric of your skirt as said hand slowly makes its way upwards and to the inside of your thigh. You close your eyes and a soft whimper escapes your control and makes it past your lips and your eyes snap open at once. She leans back, looking into your light brown eyes, a soft smile on her lips. Seducing you with her eyes and that smile, those dark eyes that wander over your body as she slowly withdraws her hand from its position almost there, too close to your center, but not even close enough. The smile that is even more of a promise than anything else she has done.

She grabs your hand and pulls you to your feet. Yanking and gently pulling at the same time, her eyes boring holes into yours as she gazes into your soul. Your eyes flicker from hers, unable to stand the sweet torture your eyes travel down her face, trace her collarbone, dip with the low-cut dress, your mouth watering slightly at the smooth expanse of skin before you trace the outline of the dress. The red fabric ends above her knees, her legs long and slender reach down to feet in ridiculously high heels, and you wonder briefly how she is able to stand, never mind walk or dance in those black things, but her other hand finds your free one and you are pulled to the dance floor.

Only then does the music reach your ears again, and you realize that for the last few minutes all you heard was the rush of your own blood, the rapid beating of your heart as it hammered away in your chest, still is, in fact, not even attempting to slow down. She is in front of you and lets go of your hands, bringing hers up to hold her hair back at her neck as she begins to move in time with the music again, grinning at you, and raising an eyebrow, a silent invitation to join her. And also a challenge if the mischievous glint in her eyes is any indication. You hesitate before you close your eyes for a second and then open them again, moving your body to the loud music that is now blocking out every other sound. You lose track of the time and of how many songs go by, but after days, after nanoseconds, you are dancing not next to her, but with her. Her back is pressed against your front, you are moving together, completely lost in the music and each other. She has her hand up and toys with your brown hair as she rubs her cheek against yours while your tighten the hold you have on her hips and pull her flush against you.

She tastes like strawberries and peppermint, of sunsets against the mountains and full moon on the sea, of summer nights in hot deserts and cool autumn days spend snuggled up in front of the fire place while watching the rain beat down on the window panes. Her skin is so soft and inviting, you moan into her mouth as her tongue battles with yours and she gently bites down on your bottom lip. This is so wrong, but nothing has ever felt so right in all of your life.

The club transforms into a hotel room, and she is facing you, unbuttoning your blouse as you pull down the zipper of her dress. You were wrong, the way it pools at her feel is even better than in your imagination and your mouth waters at the sight in front of you. She is not wearing a bra, her bare chest heaves as she tries to catch her breath before she pulls you in for another kiss, brushing your blouse off your shoulders and you let go of her for a second to let it slide to the floor. She kicks of her heels and takes a few slow, deliberate steps to the bed as you rid yourself of your skirt and shoes and follow her, watching as a drop of sweat slowly makes its way down from her brow to her jaw line, along her neck and to the valley of her breasts.

Before you know what has gotten into you, you are pinning her to the bed, you hair brushing against her naked torso as you kiss her, your heart and body screaming for more, more of her, more of this. You think of what your mother, what your father would say if they knew what you are doing, and smile at their dumbstruck faces. You do not care what they would say or think or do, you have not held their approval for a long time now, and right now is not the time to start worrying about that. Right now is about pleasure and need and lust and passion and want, and wanting you do, you want this more than anything else.

She is soft and firm, strong and weak at the same time. She mewls under your hands, hisses softly, arches into your body and then suddenly she is hovering over you, sits on top of you, the devilish smile back, the glint returning to her lust filled eyes as she kisses her way from your mouth along your jaw line to your neck. She licks of the point of your pulse and you arch into her as she gently bites down, marking you, claiming you as hers, and you do not mind because tonight you are hers, you want to be hers, if she wants, you could be hers forever.

You wake up in the morning, alone in a foreign hotel room. You feel your body protesting as you sit up and smile slightly. That was by far the most amazing night you have ever had. And with a woman no less. With a soft sigh, you get up and grab your blouse from the floor and slowly put it on. Images are dancing behind your eyes, moments ripped from the night before. The way her eyes shone brightly. The way her fingers brushed over your calves. The way she surrendered to your touch. The way she tasted, sweet and spicy at the same time. Once you are dressed, you leave the room and walk down to pay for the night, only to be told that the bill has already been covered, someone has already paid. You ask if it was cash, and when you are told that the woman used a credit card, you suddenly remember that you need a copy of the bill. With a smile and nod, you leave the hotel, clutching the small piece of paper to you. You find a taxi and give your address. On the way to your apartment, you stare at the feminine signature on the bill. Z. David, signed with a flourish. The woman that gave you a night to remember, one that you will probably never forget, and all you have is her surname, and the first letter of her first name.

Years later, on a horrible day in Autopsy, on the worst day of your life, actually, you stare into the eyes of a man that is a killer, and still, despite that knowledge, you cannot kill him and safe yourself. Those eyes, cold to Ducky, are different to you. To you, they are kind and soft, they tell of a smoky club, a sickeningly sweet drink, soft lips on yours, smooth skin under your fingertips, and a memory that lasts a lifetime.

_**THE END**_

* * *

_Good? Bad? Shall I go and throw myself off a cliff? I blame it on reading too much Kiva lately. Shame these two never met._


End file.
